


The RPG Affair

by JunkFood



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7184831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JunkFood/pseuds/JunkFood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A High Mage, a Fighter, and a Rogue walk into a bar.  This is their story.</p><p>or</p><p>A Man From Uncle, high-fantasy style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fighter

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the title, this is wholly modeled on the 2015 film. I've never seen the original TV series but damn, those episode titles have style.
> 
> From this KinkMeme prompt:
> 
> Actual Prompt: Illya, Gaby, and Napoleon are an adventuring party in a high fantasy setting. Maybe Waverly is an information broker who sends them on missions he finds out about in his cover job of being a tavern keeper. So they do things like defeat dragons, escort trade caravans, get hired as mercs, or crawl through dungeons looking for loot. Doesn't have to be a Dragon Age AU, that's just what inspired this train of thought.
> 
> Bonus Points:  
> +Illya isn't human. Qunari, half-orc, or anything else that makes him even more intimidating.  
> +Gaby doesn't get relegated to healing because she's the girl.  
> +Napoleon's got a high charisma stat and uses it.  
> +Though the obvious team setup is Illya-Warrior, Napoleon-Rogue, Gaby-Mage, I think I like Illya as a high-damage, intimidating mage. Napoleon could be a sword-and-shield warrior, controlling battles by keeping attention on himself. Gaby is a rogue, either a bard or tinkerer class, inspiring her teammates and creating traps for enemies to walk into. I'm not married to that setup though.

Napoleon entered _Tit’s Tavern_ just as the evening lamps were lit.  He had barely made it into town before the gates were barred for the evening, which was extremely fortuitous as it had started to rain.  Curfew came early here and Napoleon didn’t want to spend one more night sleeping in the dirt than was absolutely necessary.  He surveyed the dreary interior of the “tavern” and was sorely disappointed in the lack of “tits” on display.  The tavern was lightly populated at this hour; the only inhabitants were himself, an inebriated orc, and a bored-looking human girl who was lazily wiping down the tables.  She had a tight handkerchief wrapped around her head- he presumed to keep her hair off her face – at which she kept pulling at distractedly with one hand.  With his trademark grin and Level 10 Charisma, he sauntered over to the girl and even put a bit of sway into his hips, which was completely wasted on her as she didn’t bother to look up from what she was doing.

“I’ll have, er, what he’s having?” said Napoleon gesturing to the orc, face down in a puddle of drool. 

“What that orc is havin’ ain’t fit fer you pretty boy.  We has some _Dragon’s Breath_ , may be more to your likin’?”

“Ah, sounds great.  I think.”  Napoleon took a seat at the bar and had a closer look at the bar maid.  She was possibly pretty (it was very hard to tell under the layers of grime caked around her face) and seemed swift with her fingers, as demonstrated by her ease in mixing whatever was in _Dragon’s Breath_.  She set the drink in front of Napoleon and with a flick of her wrist set it on fire.  Napoleon was impressed, swift fingers _and_ a magic user- both invaluable in his secondary line of work.  Once the flames died down, Napoleon lifted his glass, gave the girl a flirty salute, and took a manly chug.  Or at least tried to.  He spent the next several moments choking into his silk handkerchief while the bar maid openly smirked at him.

“Woo…that was um, very fiery!  House special?”

“Maybe.”  There was that smirk again.  “Anythin’ else I can do yous for?” 

“Information.  I’m looking for some work and I heard that there’s a large reward for whoever can kill or capture the bandits harassing local travelers in these parts.”

The bar maid snorted.  “Yeah, we’s got some bandits.  But that’s jus’ cause we has lots of visitors lately.  I heard from some staff at the castle that we has some important persons coming here an’ they be stayin’ at the castle.  Soon as they be gone, bandits go too.”  The bar maid put down the glass she was half-heartedly polishing.  “What’s yer name?  You ain’t like the rest of ‘em that comes through here.  Yous gotta funny accent.”

“Sir James from Knightshaven, milady.”  Napoleon gave her a mock bow.

“Knightshaven, yous say?  Yer a far way from home.”  The bar maid looked at him skeptically.  “So yer a Knight?”

“Well, technically I’m just a Warrior.  Ran out of money before I could reach Knight.  You understand.”  She rolled her eyes at him but it was the one bit of truth in his “cover” and something that Napoleon was still sensitive about.  Even with raw talent, one simply did not advance within the Fighter class without paying a large sum of money to do so.  Napoleon had made it quite easily to Warrior but he couldn’t achieve Knight without sponsorship and sufficient funds.  And since he couldn’t get the good, high-paying assignments without having Knight-status, he was stuck doing mercenary jobs for the Council to pay the bills instead of going on grand quests with his classmates from The Academy.  A meritocracy Knightshaven was not. 

“Tough break.”  She tugged on her handkerchief/bandana/head wrap thing.  Napoleon wondered if she had lice.

“Well, it’s only fair that I know your name as well.  I simply can’t imagine imbibing _Dragon’s Breath_ made by any other bar maid.”  At this Napoleon was rewarded with a genuine laugh and smile.

“Ruby’s the name.  I’m jus’ fillin’ in here for the barkeep’s wife.  She’ll be back in a fortnight.”

“And where will you go when she gets back?”

“Dick’s Tavern.”  Ruby smirked. 

“Even better!”  Napoleon recognized it for the dodge that it was.  Stifling a yawn, Napoleon got back to business.  “I don’t suppose you can give me your finest room for the duration of my stay?  I’ll give you a copper coin for each night that I’m here.”

Ruby looked at him appraisingly and replied with, “Make it a silver an’ I’ll make sure yous has the best room in the house.  Plus all the _Dragon’s Breath_ yous can drink.”  She doled out another smirk.  “In the meantime, whils you be waitin’ on bandit killing, town has a message board over there.  Yous can find some jobs, usually the gentry-folk needin’ a strong lad such as yerself.”  She pointed over to a large corkboard posted by the entry way on which various messages were tacked.

“Many thanks, milady.”  Napoleon contemplated finishing his drink, couldn’t muster up the strength to do so, and poured it into his neighbor’s glass when Ruby wasn’t looking.  Room and board procured, he wandered over to the town message board.  Despite the early hour, the tavern was filling up with customers rather quickly.  Napoleon had been sent to _Pleasant Hamlet_ to try to determine what could be of interest here to account for the recent uptick in foreign tourists, particularly tourists of the magical persuasion.  The Council had observed an increase in supernatural activity emanating from the region in recent months and Napoleon was sent to determine if anything sinister were afoot.  Furthermore, Napoleon was especially interested in the “important visitors” that Ruby had mentioned.  He suspected that these visitors were the Vinciguerra’s- elves with more than a trifling interest in the Dark Arts.  The town, or its surroundings, had to have something of magical significance in order to be of interest to the Vinciguerra’s in this backwater hell hole.  The local royalty was hosting a welcome ball for the Vinciguerra’s the following evening and Napoleon was tasked with finding out everything he could about the couple.

Napoleon scanned the message board for anything of interest but came up empty- except for one posting that caught his eye:

_Actively seeking strong, tough man to kill the scary spider in my bedroom._

_Inquiries: the Head of Staff, the Castle_

Napoleon tore off the posting and stuffed it in his pocket.  He knew a booty call when he saw one.


	2. The Mage

Illya Kuryakin, High Mage, proficient Cleric, and youngest graduate of The Institute for Magical Studies, was not having a very magical day.  He had failed to make it into town prior to the gates closing and so he was forced to make a rude camp outside of town.  Ordinarily this hardship would have posed only a minor inconvenience for him and serve to remind him, as his Advanced Alchemy Professor always said, that stoicism bore more fruits than hedonism.  Unfortunately, a particularly nasty and determined Revenant had followed him from the Pleasant Forest and despite Illya’s best efforts he could not get rid of the restless spirit.  He contemplated blasting the spirit with a concentrated dose of magical light but he didn’t want to alert any other magic users nearby of his presence and potentially undermine his mission.  He settled on exposing the spirit to Daylight, which was actual sunlight he kept in a bottle within his cloak.  Procuring Daylight was an expensive task involving the tears of faeries and natural light bottled during the Summer Solstice.  Illya mourned the waste and hastily set up camp.

He had been sent by The Order of Supreme Magical Beings Entrusted with Time and Celestial Matters  (or just “The Order”) to investigate the Vinciguerra’s, noted anarchists and dark magic practitioners, who were to be honored guests at the royal ball hosted by the local Baron and scheduled for the following evening.  He was also instructed to identify, and if possible “take out” his counterpart from The Council.  There was no love lost between The Order and The Council, even though they shared the same goals, but all the same Illya hoped the man wouldn’t prove to be a nuisance.  He was far more interested in the suspected black magic that permeated the village and its surroundings than being treated as a pawn in the ongoing chess match between The Order and The Council.

Illya tried to light a small fire but he couldn’t sustain it.  It had always baffled his instructors at The Institute that Illya could manage incredibly complex spells well beyond his grade-level, yet he struggled with very simple spells that even lay users knew how to cast.  He rifled through his traveling bags looking for anything that could be taken as a meal and also checked the status of his belongings.  Illya had packed his very best cloak and could only hope that the light rain, quickly developing into a steady pour, would not ruin his evening wear.  He had enchanted it, but he was having a very unlucky day. 

Munching on some moldy cheese, he decided the best use of his evening was to do some pre-ball reconnaissance.  His favorite method of surveillance was to use familiars.  This was looked down on by Illya’s peers and other professional magic users as the domain of wizards and witches, who were usually poorly educated and not well trained.  In order to hold a “title” in the magic user world (such as Mage, Sorcerer, or Alchemist), one had to receive years of formal training and pass proficiency tests.  Students were divided amongst the 3 magical disciplines according to aptitude and desire.  Mages were something of generalists and were considered proficient in both Sorcery (the summoning and/or possession of spirits) and Alchemy (the transmutation of physical matter) but tended to be most suited to raw spell-casting.  Illya had almost pursued Alchemy as his specialty but was strongly discouraged by his academic advisors and essentially forced into becoming a Mage even though he couldn’t really do Sorcery- which is why he was stuck using familiars. 

He cast a “Familiar-locator” spell, and quickly found a fat tabby lazing about the castle grounds.  Now he had the tedious task of convincing the animal to help him.  Cats, like all animals, didn’t speak human nor think like humans so Illya had to focus his desire on the target animal, convince the animal that a reward was in their near future, and hope the animal could focus on the task at hand.  Illya willed the tabby to wake up from his nap and investigate the castle grounds with a promised reward of a bowl of milk that Illya would provide the next day.  Illya was able to “see” through the tabby’s eyes and was slowly formulating an interior map of the castle as the tabby meandered from room to room.  He hoped to catch a glimpse of the Vinciguerra’s but it seemed that his familiar was stuck in the servants’ quarters.  Illya was about to give up and release the cat when he heard some violent thumping interspersed with moaning.  He found the room where the noises were emanating from and saw that the door was slightly ajar.  He willed the cat to nudge the door open and sneak in.  He couldn’t see much from the cat’s position on the floor but thanks to a deep, male grunt, he realized that he was unfortunately a witness to a lusty couple’s intimate encounter.  This is why his peers did not use familiars, Illya mused. 

“Mmmmm…..oh yeah right there,” a woman moaned and then giggled.  “You’re a naughty boy, aren’t you?”

“Oh that trick?  That’s some sex magic I learned overseas,” a man with a Western accent replied. 

Illya frowned, mildly affronted.  There were more ways to practice magic than what The Order officially recognized but working magic through intercourse was not possible.  The couple’s cries got louder as they reached completion and unfortunately the cat Illya had possessed exercised independent will and jumped on top of a desk adjacent to the currently in-use bed.  From this vantage, Illya sadly had an excellent view of the human couple and their antics.  An extremely well-muscled man with dark, wavy brown hair and matching beard had an attractive, middle aged lady pinned to the bed with her ankles hooked behind his neck.  Illya willed the cat to jump off the desk but he was completely ignored as the cat curled in on himself and proceed to give his coat a thorough grooming.  While Illya was mentally reviewing the ingredients to make a potion to induce short-term memory loss, the couple had finished and the man was lounging on his back with the woman’s head tucked under his chin.  They had rearranged the bed sheets after their romp so at least the man’s “assets” were no longer exposed.  The woman yawned and tucked her head more firmly against the man’s chest.

“Big day tomorrow?” the man inquired.

“Yeah, the Lord and Lady of the castle are hosting some bigshots from some far away kingdom.”

“The Vinciguerra’s?”

“Yup, that’s right.  I’ve never heard of them but the Lord and Lady are quite nervous about their arrival.  Apparently the wife is a Light Elf.”  The woman started to play with the man’s copious chest-hair, which Illya found to be quite distracting.

“Oh?  I thought they were already in town?”

“We all thought they were going to come the traditional way- by horse and carriage.  But apparently they were held up back at home and are teleporting here just before the event.  The Lady of the Castle is upset because it’s quite rude to teleport such a large party to the receiving hall, but who can guess at the manners of a Light Elves?  They do want they want.”  This was certainly true.  Light Elves were known to be talented magic users and used that talent to make themselves extremely wealthy.  If not for their small numbers, they could easily take over any of the other realms with their power and resources.  This would change Illya’s plans somewhat.  He had hoped to sneak into the castle prior to the event in order to slip tracking and monitoring devices amongst the Vinciguerra’s belongings but that was no longer possible.  He would have to find a way to do the bulk of his investigation during the party.

The woman seemed to have drifted off to sleep; the man stared up at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused.  He was handsome, in a rogue-ish way, and had several scars from what appeared to be sword wounds.  Illya surmised he was most likely from the Fighter class as he had a full beard, which was typical for Fighters who were deployed for months at a time and therefore did not observe regular grooming habits.  Illya idly wondered if this were the man from The Council; if so, Illya would have no trouble taking him out.  Satisfied he had completed all of the reconnaissance he could in this room, Illya willed the cat to jump down from the desk.  The cat begrudgingly acquiesced and started to cross the floor towards the exit only to come face to face with the largest, scariest spider Illya had ever seen.


	3. The Rogue

Napoleon groaned at the light streaming in from the tavern’s rafters and tried to position his body in such a way that he could avoid sunlight.  Given the shoddy shape of _Tit’s Tavern’s_ roof, this proved to be impossible.  His hope of spending the night in more luxurious settings within the castle walls was dashed by the largest and scariest spider Napoleon had ever seen.  He had been mulling over how he was going to spy on the Vinciguerra’s when a large tabby cat jumped on the bed and embedded its claws in Napoleon’s torso causing Napoleon to emit an unmanly-sounding shriek.  This in turn caused Brenda, his bed partner, to wake from her slumber and accidentally push Napoleon out of the bed only for him to come face to face with the aforementioned demon-spider.  Fortunately for his continued longevity, Napoleon always kept a dagger in his left boot which was fortuitously propped up against the bed.  The spider spewed webbing at him, missed, and was preparing to lunge at him with the intent of injecting him with a lethal dose of venom.  Napoleon thrust the dagger into the rearing spider’s sternum and cut the insectoid from sternum to end, guts spilling everywhere.  Happy that most of the guts fell on the floor and not on his naked body, Napoleon turned towards his bed partner expecting to receive a kiss for his reward but instead got a very hard slap.  Brenda was furious that her quarters were covered in spider guts, at 2 in the morning no less!  Napoleon tried to point out to her that the spider was the initial reason he had responded to her ad in the tavern but she would have none of it.  She kicked Napoleon out of her bedroom naked and threw most of his clothes after him (he would later mourn the silk handkerchief that was left behind). 

The only good thing to come out of his evening with Brenda (besides one halfway decent orgasm) was the intel that the Vinciguerra’s were teleporting directly to the party.  This meant that they would not need as much staff as they would if they were coming by more traditional means.  His mission was to not only spy on the Vinciguerra’s but also to determine if they were in possession of a machine made by Gnomes that amplified dark magic.  If the Vinciguerra’s were in possession of a working machine, they would be unstoppable.

But first Napoleon had to bathe and gets his formal wear sorted.  He scratched at his beard, which he couldn’t wait to shave off, and decided his first stop would the public baths, followed by a hearty breakfast, and then topped off with a visit to the town’s local tailor.  He hoped the sartorial options in _Pleasant Hamlet_ were better than the boarding options.

__________

Even though Illya hadn’t gone to sleep until after he had released the tabby (but not before being cursed with another eyeful of the naked Fighter), he had still arisen at dawn as was his wont to do.  Fortunately dawn arrived rather late in these parts and so Illya had awoken mostly refreshed.  He planned to investigate the usual spots that festered with dark magic before he had to go to the party.  These places, universally found in almost all towns and villages, included the cemetery and the gallows.  Also as part of his investigation he would need to consult with the town witch/faith healer.  Lastly, he would need to investigate the town watering hole.  Illya had never been a fan of drink and especially despised the drunkards who inhabited taverns but, as a gathering place, they could not be surpassed in local gossip.  As it was still early and the town gates had not yet been raised, Illya’s first stop was the local cemetery.  It wasn’t hard to find as it was only about two miles northeast of where he had set up camp.  Cemeteries were extremely useful to Sorcerers, for obvious reasons, but even with Illya’s limited skill in this area he could usually determine if supernatural activity was present.  Illya paced through the cemetery, noted its overall shoddiness, and felt no magical residue whatsoever.  No one had summoned so much as a ghost here anytime recently- the dead were undisturbed and the cemetery was peaceful and quiet.  Illya was glad- he really, really hated to deal with Necromancy – and so he crossed the cemetery off his mental list.  Next up- the gallows.

By the time Illya had made it back to _Pleasant Hamlet_ , the town gates were open and the sleepy town was coming to life.  _Pleasant Hamlet_ was not a center of industry, not a center of learning, not a center of anything that Illya could determine and yet the Vinciguerra’s were due to visit that night.  They wouldn’t bother to come to this provincial town if there wasn’t something here that they wanted- something they had to obtain in person.  Illya came to a stop in front of the gallows, which were as peaceful as the cemetery, if not more so, and seemed to have not been used in a very long time. 

“You’ll not find anything of interest there,” a bespectacled townsperson, with an overseas accent, addressed Illya.

“Hmmmm?” Illya grunted, faintly annoyed that his examination of the gibbet had been interrupted.

“This town hasn’t had an execution in over 10 years.  In fact, I was told by the Mayor that they will probably destroy the structure by summer.  Nasty business, executions.  Why are you interested in it?” 

“Ivan Ivanov, pleased to meet.  I am student at Institute for Magical Studies.”  Illya figured he may as well get in character for the mission.  “I write report about dark magic, was told I could research here in town.  So far cemetery quiet, here quiet too.”

“Ah, well even though we’ve had quite a few visitors as of late I’m afraid there isn’t much to be found of magical value in this town.” 

“Where is town witch?”

The townsperson laughed.  “She moved out further East. _Pleasant Hamlet_ is too peaceful to support her line of work.” 

“Her work is?”

“Protection against malevolent spirits.  As you can see from the gallows and the cemetery, there just aren’t any dark forces to be found here.  You know, this place used to be rather nasty.  The old folks say that there is a dark power source hidden somewhere deep underground but no one has ever been able to find it.  The founding members of this town named the forest, the lake, and the town _Pleasant_ as a sort of deterrent to evil.  Judging how peaceful this place is, I guess it worked!  Anyhow, if you fancy a drink come by _Tit’s Tavern_ later today.  First beer’s on me!”

Illya was beginning to wonder if The Order had sent him on a fool’s errand.  Judging by the position of the sun, it was just past noon and Illya was hungry.  He supposed he could at least get a light supper before the evening’s festivities and hear some of the local gossip.  With a sigh, he turned to follow the retreating townsperson.

__________

Napoleon felt civilized again.  He had bathed and shaved and had found astonishingly fine formal wear at the local tailor’s for the royal ball.  The coat he had purchased was a little tight across his shoulders but otherwise he was confident that he would be able to “look the part” and sneak into the party- after all, he didn’t have an invitation.  He put his newly procured clothes in his room at _Tit’s Tavern_ and made his way back to the bar- it was time for supper.  Sitting in Napoleon’s usual spot, and studiously ignoring everyone around him, was a strikingly handsome man.  Napoleon could tell that even seated the man was tall, maybe even taller than himself, clean-shaven, and _intense_.  He took a seat next to the man and summoned Ruby to take his order.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Potato leek soup?”

“Eh, well it’s a start.  Do you have a menu I could peruse?”  She gave him a flat stare.  “Add some fowl or rabbit, plus a glass of your finest wine.”

Ruby left to place his order in the kitchen.  Another man, apparently the proprietor, placed a large flagon of drink in front of the stranger. 

“There.  Complimentary beer as promised!” said the bespectacled man.  Napoleon noted his accent and thought it odd that a man from the Empire would set up shop in this backwater town.  The handsome man nodded his thanks.

“Where’s my complimentary beer?” asked Napoleon.

“You’re not a starving student,” retorted the proprietor. 

 _Well, that explained the stranger’s peasant-fare,_ thought Napoleon.  “I hope it tastes better than _Dragon’s Breath_!”

“An’ what’s wrong wit _Dragon’s Breath_?” Ruby had stealthily returned from the kitchen with his soup.

“Nothing and yet everything.  I think that it could even put hair on YOUR chest.”

The proprietor barked out a laugh and even the stranger quietly chuckled.  Ruby glared at him and left them to attend to the other patrons.  The soup was watery and barely tolerable- if Napoleon were to stay in this town much longer he may have to insist on using the tavern’s kitchen to prepare his own fare.  Most members of the Fighter class were highly interested in their meals, after all they burned an enormous amount of calories in a typical day, but Napoleon was a gourmand and could in fact shame most professional chefs with his cooking skills.  Unable to force anymore soup down his throat, he turned his attention to the handsome stranger.  The man had dirty-blonde hair and a small scar near his right eye.  Napoleon wanted to lick it.

 “So, you’re a student?” inquired Napoleon.

“Hmph,” responded the stranger, seemingly disinterested in conversing with Napoleon. 

“And what are you studying?”

“Healing spells.”

“Oh really?  I could have sworn you were a Mage.”

“I am Mage. I also study healing spells at Institute to become Cleric.”  Judging by the man’s accent and tendency to drop articles and pronouns, Napoleon surmised he was from the East. 

“And does this Mage who is also studying to be a Cleric have a name?”

Exasperated, the stranger turned to face Napoleon- presumably to tell Napoleon off.  Instead the man turned bright red, dropped a few coins on the bar’s counter, and hurried off in the direction of the tavern’s lodging rooms.

“What did I say?” Napoleon asked aloud, not really expecting an answer.

“He’s a shy one.”  Yet again, Ruby had appeared seemingly out of nowhere to place a burnt rabbit in front of him.

“And I was just getting warmed up too.  Did you see how long his legs are?  I wouldn’t mind having those wrapped around my hips.”

Ruby snorted.  “Yer wastin’ yer time with that one.  Smells like a virgin, he’d faint before you got anywhere.”

“Pity.  I was going to share this rabbit with him.  I don’t suppose _you_ have plans for later this evening?”

Ruby gave him a withering look and started to retort when the tavern’s proprietor interrupted them.

“Well, chaps what do you think?”  The man had changed into what Napoleon presumed were fancy ball clothes.  He was wearing richly-colored burgundy pantaloons with a merlot-colored silk jacket embroidered with pearls.  He looked like a court jester.

“You look like a court jester.”  Ruby had beat him to it.

“Ruby!  The tailor insisted that this is in fashion.  I think you’re just jealous that I’m an honored guest at the Castle tonight.”  He turned to address Napoleon, “What say you, Fighter?”

“You will definitely stand out.”

“See Ruby?  What do you know of high fashion anyway?  Well, I must go to the pre-event in the castle gardens to see and be seen.  Ruby, I plan to be back before midnight.  Try not to scare off any more customers than you already have.”  He put on a chartreuse cape and exited the tavern, oblivious to Ruby flipping him off.  This was an excellent turn of events for Napoleon- he saw, tucked in the man’s breast pocket, what could only be a formal invitation to the castle ball.  He had found his mark and his way into the castle.

__________

Pickpocketing the tavern proprietor was ridiculously easy.  Napoleon had found him in the poorly-patrolled castle gardens and easily retrieved the invitation that would grant him access to the castle interior.  Grabbing a glass of champagne and giving the elven server a flirty smile, Napoleon entered the castle foyer.  The Baron and Baroness had spared no expense and although the result was not nearly as grand as what Napoleon had seen in larger, more prosperous lands, Napoleon was impressed with the end result.  He scanned the room, his eyes pausing over baubles and trinkets, some of which he made a mental note to steal later, until his gaze settled on a couple that could only be the Vinciguerra’s.  Victoria Vinciguerra was the racial epitome of a Light Elf – tall, fair, beautiful, and haughty.  It had shocked the upper crust of Light Elven society when she had married a Dark Elf, but Napoleon’s intel indicated that it was a marriage of convenience: Victoria was the bastard daughter of a member of the Light Elven political elite and therefore had social standing but no inheritance whereas Alexander Vinciguerra had sought to legitimize the family business, the family business that had made him immensely wealthy but also the target of government harassment.  Elven society was caste-based and highly stratified: family name trumped personal wealth which trumped racial identity.  Napoleon took a moment to admire Victoria’s backless dress before he turned his attention to Alexander who, like most Dark Elves, was of average height, with brown hair, and a tan complexion.  Most Dark Elves could pass as human so long as they covered their pointy ears- and many did so as humans were the most populous race in the land and therefore easy to hide amongst.  He didn’t fully understand the cultural differences between Light Elves and Dark Elves- although they shared common ancestry they seemed to despise each other.

A servant whispered something in Alexander’s ear, causing him to kiss his wife on the cheek and make his departure.  Here was Napoleon’s chance!  He cut a path to Victoria and wasted no time in engaging her in conversation.

“If I’m not mistaken, that brooch you’re wearing is a Daugué original.”  Daugué was a Dwarf and rarely produced more than 5 pieces of exquisitely detailed jewelry per year- such pieces were hard to come by regardless of one’s wealth.

Startled, Victoria’s gaze fell upon his face.  She was taller than him and in fact the aforementioned brooch was at Napoleon’s eye-level.

“You are correct.  Few from the West know of him.  I take it you are a jewelry connoisseur?”

“Not quite, just a man who appreciates the finer things in life.”  Napoleon gave her his most charming smile and offered his arm to her.  With a raised eyebrow she took his hand, which he tucked firmly under his arm, and he led her to the castle’s atrium. 

“It’s a fine night for a stroll, don’t you think?”

“Especially for party-crashers such as yourself, hmmm?  And how did you get an invitation to my party?

“I stole it.”  When in doubt, he always went with the truth. 

“So you’re a Thief?”

“Come now, milady!  And waste these fine muscles?  Nay, I am a Warrior.  Who is a Thief on the side.”

Victoria chuckled.  They had come to a stop before the most pretentious sculpture Napoleon had ever seen.  He thought it might be a nude of a single-breasted harpy, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Alright, I’ll bite.  I presume there is some reason you sought me out tonight.  What is it you want?”

“I would much rather talk about what _you_ want.”

“Me?  I have everything I could ever need or want.  My husband is a good provider.”

“Yes but I am a specialist in complicated acquisitions.  I can fill the gaps in important collections.  You could think of me as a Master Thief masquerading as a Fighter.”  _Ok, this was not even remotely_ _true_ thought Napoleon.  He hoped that Victoria, like most Light Elves, had little experience with the Thieves’ Guild.  Anyone with a passing knowledge of how the Guild operated would know he could never be mistaken as a Professional Thief- his massive bulk alone would have disqualified him from Guild training.

“And what use have I of a Thief cum Fighter?”

“Well, as a Fighter I am sent on many missions to do the grunt work- slaying Dragons, razing villages, overthrowing mad Kings, and the like.  As a Thief, well, I always have my eyes open for treasure- however one defines it.”

Irritated, Victoria escaped his grasp and spun around to face him.  “Speak plainly.  Are you asking me for a job?”

“Not yet.  I simply want you to think of me first if and when you need something…liberated.”  Napoleon, maintaining eye contact with her and emitting _Charisma_ , brought her hand to his lips.  He was pleased with the slight flush that had blossomed on her pale cheeks.

“What is your name?”

“Sir Bond.  James Bond.”  It was the cover he always used when on secret assignment.  It was almost as classy as his real name.  “For official business, you can reach me by putting in a mirror call to The Academy.”  A call which, of course, would be immediately routed to Knight Sanders, his handler at The Council.

“And what of _unofficial business_?”

Napoleon reached into his trousers and handed Victoria a rather plain-looking pendant.  “It’s not as fancy as what you’re wearing but it is enchanted to be a 2-way communicator.  You can even leave messages on it!”

Victoria turned it over in her fingers and gave him a considering look.  He had no doubt that she would have her people thoroughly examine it for tracking devices and surveillance equipment.  However the pendant really was just a communicator and so Napoleon would have to find another way to spy on her.

“You’re quite charming.”  Victoria ran a sharp nail across his cheek and pocketed the pendant.  “I must attend to my other guests.  Please enjoy the free champagne.”

Napoleon smirked and saluted her with his champagne flute.  Initial contact successfully completed, Napoleon turned his attention to the other guests, specifically the guests with expensive jewelry.

__________

Illya had scaled the outer wall in order to infiltrate the castle and was presently engaged with petting the large tabby cat he had used as a familiar the previous day.  The cat greedily lapped up all of the milk Illya had given him (her? Illya wasn’t sure) and was sprawled across Illya’s lap, getting a tummy rub.  He knew he should commence surveillance of the party but he found the cat to be so cute!  Illya loved all animals but he particularly enjoyed the furrier members of the animal kingdom. 

Prior to leaving for the party he had received a mirror call from Sorcerer Oleg, his handler at The Order.  Intelligence had managed to unearth an old map of the castle.  Further study of said map showed that the castle had an unusually large amount of secret passageways- perhaps left over from a time when _Pleasant Hamlet_ hadn’t been so pleasant.  Illya was fairly confident he knew which wing the Vinciguerra’s had been placed for the duration of their stay, but of more interest was a strange room adjacent to main library.  It was possibly an old “panic room” for the royalty in yesteryear, but Illya found it odd that a subterranean room would be located in the center of the castle.  If the old royals had really been concerned with having a safe place to retreat to, they would have located it closer to the castle walls in order to make escape easier.  As far as he could tell by reading the map, the passageway descended to a large room that was surrounded by nothing.  If he were a royal trying to hide something, this room would surely be a prime candidate.  The tabby cat meowed loudly and rolled off of him, leaving shed fur everywhere.  Illya sighed and got dressed in his fine robes.  Should he run into any castle staff his plan was to act as a confused foreign guest.  He was quite talented at acting dumb.

He cast a spell on himself, often used in espionage, which enabled him to move more freely within large groups.  People would see him, but their brains would not register his presence unless he called attention to himself.  Even if someone did _see_ him, they wouldn’t remember his features with any specificity.  Dodging castle staff and party-goers alike, he slowly and methodically made his way to the castle library.  The wing in which the library was located seemed to be unoccupied, with most of the party goers congregating in the main foyer.  The library itself wasn’t very impressive- it was old, dusty, and contained an overly large fireplace currently not in use that dominated the north face of the room.  Illya ran his fingers along the books at eye-level, seeking a seam that might lead to a secret passageway.  Having no luck he surveyed the room again and noted the very large fireplace.  The very tall and wide fireplace that might accommodate a man.  He ran his fingers over the mantle- nothing was out of the ordinary.  He took his right knuckle and tapped a few of the bricks.  The first few seemed solid, but he tapped a few bricks in from the center and one of them rang hollow.  Illya tried to pry it lose but couldn’t gain purchase.  He took a small knife out of his pocket and wedged it between the hollow brick and an adjacent brick.  He applied a little force and immediately the brick popped out and landed on the rug in front of the fireplace.  Illya heard a creaking noise followed by the immediate opening of the back of the fireplace, exposing the secret passageway.  Grinning, he placed the brick back in its initial position and crouched into the passageway.  He made it a few steps in and the trap door swung shut.  Thrown into pitch darkness, Illya really, really hoped that getting back out wouldn’t be too difficult.

__________

Napoleon hadn’t had much luck liberating pricey jewelry from the party attendees, mainly because it was all costume jewelry and they weren’t wearing anything remotely valuable, but he _did_ have luck with another member of the castle staff- a very cute, elven waiter he had cornered in the library and was currently making out with- much to the dark elf’s half-hearted protests.

“Sir James I must get back to work.”

Napoleon sucked on his neck and shoved him against the fireplace.  “Hmmm….I bet you say that to all of the fighters who want to show you their sword.”

The elf gave him one final, very deep kiss and said, “If you’re still around later, I may help you _polish_ your sword _._ ”  He gave Napoleon a saucy wink and hurried back in the direction of the kitchens.

Sighing, Napoleon turned toward the fireplace.  He had made little progress this evening- the Vinciguerra’s retired early and with the exception of making contact with Victoria, he hadn’t accomplished any other tasks that Sanders had given him.  Musing over his inadequate espionage, Napoleon noticed that a brick in the fireplace had come slightly loose.  He grabbed the brick and it easily separated from the fireplace.  Musing that he didn’t know his own strength, he started to replace it only to hear the whirring noise of gears.  Frowning, he stepped back and saw that the back of the fireplace had swung open. 

Chuckling to himself, he replaced the brick and crouched into the fireplace.  Fully expecting it to close behind him (a common feature of secret passageways), he wedged a small dagger between the trap door and the fireplace side ensuring that it would not close completely.  The passageway was pitch black and filled with spider webs.  Napoleon lit a small lantern and hung it from his belt.  It did a poor job of illumination but it freed up his hands to deal with arachnid and non-arachnid threats alike.  The path curved downwards and eventually became stairs.  He followed the stairs down for some time until he emerged into what appeared to be a small cave.  At the center of the cave was a clearly man-made stone altar.  Etched into the side of the altar were sinister-looking symbols.  As he approached the altar, he felt an ice-cold chill go through his body.  Whatever the altar had been used for, it certainly wasn’t for good.  Running a finger along the top of the dusty altar, Napoleon saw that there was a circular spot that was clean- as if something had been there until very recently.  Frowning, Napoleon took a closer look and suddenly realized that he was not alone.  He hadn’t managed to stay alive for this long without following his instincts and so he quickly rolled over the top of the altar only to hear a throwing knife bounce off the stone side of the altar, where he had been standing just a moment earlier.  Crouched behind the altar, he doused the lantern at his waist, let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and considered his options.  Thanks to the party’s dress code he only had 3 throwing knives, 1 smoke bomb, and a garrote.  Both the garrote and throwing knives would be useless in the near pitch-black cave and so he was going to have to rely on his oldest weapon- his fists.

He moved to the right of the altar and quickly took inventory of his surroundings.  The cave was mostly flat, with the exception of a small rocky outcropping east of his position that could hide an assailant.  Guessing his would-be assassin was hiding there, he threw one of the smoke bombs hoping it would flush the assassin out.  It seemed to do the trick as a tall, hooded figure rushed towards the altar.  Oftentimes the best defense was a good offense and so Napoleon tackled him head-on.  The robed figure was surprisingly strong and quickly had Napoleon in a headlock.  Napoleon let his body go slack and, taking advantage of his attacker’s momentary surprise, quickly reversed out of the headlock, pinned the figure to the ground, and brought a knife to the figure’s neck.  His assailant was definitely male but Napoleon couldn’t be sure he was human, as the hood partially obscured his face.

“Don’t move,” said Napoleon.  With the snap of his fingers, he performed some fire magic and re-lit the lantern at his waist.  He pulled the man’s hood back to reveal his face.

“Ivan Ivanov, pleased to meet.”

“Yeah right.  Cut the crap.  I know you’re from The Order.”

“And you must be the Fighter from The Council.”    

“Very astute of you.  What gave me away?  My bulging biceps?”  Napoleon preened.

“More like your stupidity and man-whorish ways.”  The man drily answered.

“And what would you know of my man-whorish ways?”  The stranger looked embarrassed and averted his eyes.  Napoleon pressed the knife further into the man’s throat.  “I believe I asked for a name.”

“Illya Kuryakin.”

“See, that wasn’t so bad.  Now, normally I’d really enjoy having a fine, young man such as yourself under me, but alas I’m in this dank cave for the same reasons I expect you are.  Tell me, what did you find on the altar.”  The man, Illya, glared at him and pressed his lips together tightly.  Napoleon applied more pressure on the knife. 

“A large crystal ball polluted with dark magic but I didn’t get to investigate it since you bumbled your way down here.”

“Where is it now?”

Illya jerked his head towards the rocky outcropping.  “I put it in a rucksack.”

Napoleon rolled Illya on his belly and tied his hands together with the garrote.  “I wouldn’t struggle too much if I were you.  The garrote I’m using to bind your wrists will slice to the bone.”  Napoleon pulled Illya to his feet and frog-marched him to the rocky outcropping.  There was nothing there.  “Where is it?”  Napoleon tightened the garrote. 

Illya grunted in pain.  “I don’t know!  I secured it here before I tried to kill you in front of the altar.”

“Dammit!  Someone else must have snuck down here while we were fighting.”

Illya took advantage of Napoleon’s momentary distraction and used his right shoulder to hit Napoleon painfully in the face, causing him to release Illya’s wrists in surprise.  Even though his hands were tied behind him, Illya swiftly ran up the stairs and towards the cave’s exit.  Napoleon checked to make sure his nose wasn’t broken and then ran after Illya.  Napoleon caught up with him in front of the fireplace trap door.  Whoever had been in the cave with them had removed the dagger Napoleon used to keep the passageway open.  Panting, he caught his breath while he watched Illya try to kick down the trap door.

“Stop that.  You’ll just hurt yourself.”

“What do you care?  Or did you forget what you’ve done to me already?”  Illya huffed.

“You tried to kill me!”  Illya just raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say _And?_   “Alright, fair enough.  How about this?  Let’s make a truce.  When we get the object back we’ll call our respective agencies and work it out.”

“Fine, but only until we get it back.”

“Show me your wrists.  I’ll untie the garrote.  We need to find a way out of here.”  Napoleon unwound the garrote and Illya massaged his wrists.  Napoleon was struck by how small and almost dainty the man’s wrists were considering his size.

“There must be a trigger to open the trap door on this side, no?”  Illya inquired.

“If this were a safe place for the castle royalty then I would agree with you.  But given that awful altar, that cave was either used for ritual sacrifice or as a warehouse for dark magic.”

Illya moved his hands over the trap door, as if he were patting it down.

“What…are you doing?”

“Checking if there is a draft.  If there is, that means the trap door has a spring-loaded mechanism that we can trigger from this side.”  The man was clever, Napoleon had to give him that.  He was on all-fours methodically tapping each brick.  Napoleon was admiring his ass when Illya said, “Found it!  Give me your dagger.”  Napoleon sighed and handed it over, hoping that Illya wouldn’t embed it in his chest.  A few moments later, Illya had successfully tripped the spring and they stepped back to allow the trap door to swing open.  They crawled through the fireplace and emerged safely back in the library.  Napoleon could hear that the party was still in full swing and so he adjusted his clothing and hair using a mirror that was conveniently placed over the fireplace. 

Illya was staring off into space and distractedly petting the tabby cat that had ruined Napoleon’s evening with Brenda.

“Illya!”

“Hmm?”  Illya’s eyes focused on him.

“What…are you doing?”

“I am trying to determine if the animal saw anything while we were gone.”  Illya’s eyes unfocused again.  “I see….someone small but I can’t make out their features.  Seems to be a woman…wearing all black….wearing some kind of head wrap.”

Napoleon heard footsteps coming in their direction.  They both needed a plausible reason to be there and not out with the rest of the revelers.  Napoleon forced Illya to release the cat and pulled him to his feet.

“Quick,” Napoleon whispered.  “Kiss me!”

“What?!  No!”

Napoleon pulled Illya’s head down to meet his lips and proceeded to give him one of the filthiest kisses he had in his repertoire.  Illya had a fist between them, as if to push Napoleon away, when the owner of the footsteps came to a halt in front of them.  He hoped that at least he was giving a convincing performance, as Illya was as cold and stiff as the altar in the cave.

“You couldn’t wait one hour until I got off my shift?!” accused an outraged voice.  Napoleon broke the kiss with a loud smack and saw that he was being addressed by the elven server he had flirted with earlier.  Unsurprisingly, and for the second night in a row, he was unceremoniously thrown off the castle grounds by a member of the castle staff.

Once outside the castle walls, Illya punched him.  “THAT is for taking liberties with my pure self!”

Napoleon straightened his nose, for the second time in as many hours. 

“So, Cowboy, what do we do now?”  Illya sarcastically asked.

“Well, Peril, there’s only one person we both know who has a fondness for head wraps, isn’t there?”

“Ruby,” said Napoleon and Illya simultaneously.


End file.
